A New Beginning
by Twinsfan725
Summary: AU: A different take on how Fran and Max end up together. They both went through difficult times in their pasts, but can a chance meeting on the street change everything? While struggling to find their new beginning, Fran and Max find out that everything is not all smooth sailing when it comes to their relationship.
1. Prologue

**A/N: I'm glad I finally found some inspiration to write another story. This one is going to be a longer one. I have the whole story planned out, I just need to fill in the details, hoping I don't get stuck with writer's block along the way. This chapter is sort of the "prologue" I guess you could call it. It just gives an insight (mainly in Max's POV) to the beginning of the story. Again, stay patient, as I will try to update as soon as I can. Reviews are always welcomed, good or bad. Enjoy:)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, nor will I ever. I'm just borrowing them for a while, for entertainment purposes only.**

* * *

Prologue

What does it feel like to lose someone you love? Someone so close and dear to your heart that you would do anything in the world to protect them. Somehow, Maxwell doubted himself on that. He felt as if he had failed her. He did everything he could to save her, but even the best medical treatment money could buy was no match for the terrible illness his wife was stricken with. _"Sometimes we have to realize that terrible things happen for a reason,"_ the doctor had told him that fateful night. But Max refused to believe him. How could a woman so kind and compassionate be given someone else's punishment? That question had haunted him for years, and it still does, whenever he felt himself missing her. He promised—no, vowed—to never love again. He couldn't relive the pain and sadness he endured (still endures) after his wife passed. So Max kept to himself. He threw himself into his work, not bothering to comfort his three grieving children. And as the years passed without Sara by his side, he began to realize that he was wrong. He didn't fail her; he did everything he could to keep her with him. It was her time. He couldn't control it, it was just the way things were meant to be. Maybe the doctor was right after all. Terrible things do happen for a reason. Then does that mean he was meant to find something or someone to help make him whole again? He didn't think so. Max was held in the belief that you could only find true love once, if at all. What are the chances of finding it twice?

So after all the tears he shed and the emptiness he felt after Sara's death, the most painful part was missing out on his children's lives. He neglected them for so long, blaming himself for their mother's death, that he hadn't realized they were growing up right in front of him. They were wonderful kids, but their mother's death was the stake to the heart. They were lost and devastated without her. Their luxurious lifestyle proved worthless, as no amount of money could bring their mother back. For months, even years, the children looked to their father for comfort, but he wouldn't give it to them. He felt more alone than the children did. And every time Maxwell looked at his eldest daughter, he saw Sara's beautiful face and being within her. She was so beautiful. Though Max found it heartbreaking that Maggie lacked self-esteem when she was around others. Still just a teenager, she needed a feminine guidance, something Max couldn't offer her. And ruefully, Sara's death greatly affected his son. She was the only one who could control his mischievous antics. So as of lately, Brighton became the troublemaker of the three; always finding conflicts at home and at school. But the most troubled of the three was Grace. Weekly therapy sessions became the norm for the young girl. Her imaginary friends were the only ones she could turn to, to help fill the void left behind by her mother's absence.

Therefore, over the past year, Maxwell constantly thought about what it would be like to not feel so alone and detached from everyone. He wondered if Sara would be happy for him if he moved on. But how could he move on when he vowed to never love again? Maybe it was time to break that vow? Maybe it was time to start over? All he has to do is find his new beginning.


	2. A rainy day

**A/****N: Welcome to chapter two. I hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

Maxwell stood from his seat in the theater and slipped his jacket on. He glanced down at his watch once more. Seeing it was already past five o'clock going on six, he decided to call it a night. Rehearsals were long and unproductive. CC had been arguing with the production crew almost all afternoon. But somehow—despite several heated arguments—thankfully, everything managed to get cleared up. Opening night was less than a month away and everything was going according to schedule, except for a few minor conflicts here and there. Max was so sure of his new production that he was confidant he could beat out Andrew Lloyd Webber for a Tony. He smiled to himself at the thought. _You're not the only producer with a successful career, Webber._

While gathering his things, a sudden pounding pulsated through the vein in his head. Maxwell reached up to rub his temple as he tried to relieve some of the pain left behind from his headache. It seemed that the later he stayed, the more aches and pains he felt afterwards. Grabbing the script and some important documents, he placed them in his briefcase, then closed it shut. He looked around, making sure nothing was forgotten, and headed outside into the brightly lit city.

A clap of thunder erupted from the skies as raindrops softly littered the sidewalk and the many pedestrians making their way for cover. He let out a frustrated groan. With no umbrella, Max quickly jogged up to his waiting limo, drops of rain pelting his face with every stride. After settling himself inside, he loosened his tie and smoothed back his now wet hair. He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, letting the day's exhaustion take over.

"Sir?" the driver called out as he pulled into traffic.

Hearing a voice Maxwell opened his eyes. It took him a minute to reply as he was lost in his own world. "Yes?" he answered.

"It's going to be a bit of a drive back home, sir. Traffic is really backed up."

Maxwell let out a tired sigh. "Very well then. Thank you." As the driver followed the line of cars in front of them, Max turned his attention out the window. Drops of rain swiftly rolled down the windows as the storm outside began to intensify. He felt a sudden jerk as the limo came to a complete stand still once again. While still looking out the window, a bright red umbrella caught Max's eye. The vibrant color stood out among the sea of pedestrians. He kept his gaze fixated on the umbrella and the woman holding it. He watched her every step. But suddenly the woman fell to the ground after someone had bumped into her.

"Frank, could you pull over please?" Max asked his driver. Feeling drawn to her for some reason, he opened his door, and quickly rushed over to her.

* * *

Fran picked up her pace as a loud crackle of thunder broke from the sky. With one hand holding her umbrella, she tucked the other inside the pocket of her jacket. She kept her eyes in front of her with every step. But a quick, simple glance at the sea of cars next to her made her unaware of the parting pedestrians in front of her. A man bumped into her with a thud, causing Fran to lose her balance. She fell to the wet ground feeling rather embarrassed. People in front and behind dodged her fallen form.

"Need a hand?" a voice asked her.

Fran looked up to see who had spoken to her. The man staring down at her extended his hand. Placing her hand in his, he helped her to her feet. She noticed he wasn't carrying an umbrella, so she held hers out over the both of them. The man's green eyes crinkled as he smiled down at her. His dark hair was stuck to his forehead, saturated from the heavy rain falling from the sky. He was truly handsome, even if he was soaking wet.

Fran shook her head. "New Yorkers, I tell ya. Can't even stop for a second to help a simple woman back up to her feet."

Max let out a short laugh at her comment. She was simply beautiful to his eyes. The long dress pants and light jacket she was wearing accentuated her thin figure. He was so lost in her deep, brown eyes that he didn't even realize he was staring, until she looked back at him, expecting him to say something.

"I'm sorry for staring," Max said, shaking his head in embarrassment. He cleared his throat. "I'm Maxwell Sheffield." He held his hand out. "By the way, are you all right? You took a bit of a fall."

Fran smiled at his nervousness. "Fran Fine," she answered, happily shaking his extended hand. "And I'm okay, thank you." Feeling a slight sting of pain, Fran looked down at her left leg. Max followed her gaze.

"Are you hurt?"

Fran shook her head 'no.' "I'm fine, really."

Max smiled. He could see right through her. "Can I offer you a ride home, if that's where you're going?"

Fran shook her head once more. "Oh, no, I couldn't. I don't want to waste any of your time just so you can give me a ride home."

"Please, I insist. It's no trouble whatsoever."

"Are you sure?" Fran looked up at him hesitantly.

He nodded in response, leading her towards the parked limo. They both slid inside, immediately feeling the rush of warm air melting away their cold interiors. Max relayed the address Fran gave him to the driver. She undid her umbrella and placed the dripping wet item on the floor next to her feet. She turned and faced him, realizing he said something.

"I'm sorry. What did you say?" Fran asked.

"I said, are you sure you're not hurt? Because you keep glancing down at your left foot."

She didn't answer him right away so he took that as a 'yes.' Max picked up her left foot. He took off her stiletto heeled shoe and carefully ran a hand over her frigid skin. He felt a tad insecure for touching her without her permission, but her skin was so smooth and soft he couldn't resist. Fran could feel the warmth coursing through her veins as his fingers lightly brushed over her skin. She felt a small shiver run up her spine when he moved his hand up to her ankle. He heard a small gasp. He looked up, seeing her face turn into a tight grimace.

"Is it your ankle?"

Fran nodded. He moved over and extended her leg out so it was lying straight across the seat.

"Try not to move it," Max replied softly, removing his hands from her foot. Immediately, Fran missed his gentle touch.

The rest of the ride to Fran's apartment was silent. Neither of them knew what to say to break the ice between them. Once the limo came to a stop, Max slipped her shoe back on her foot. He opened the door and helped her out. The storm had passed. Rain was no longer falling from the sky. Instead, the sun was peeking out from behind a few dark clouds, about ready to set below the horizon.

He walked her up to the front door of her building. "Remember to put some ice on that ankle once you get inside," Max said.

"I will," Fran dutifully answered.

Max stood and stared at her. Unsure of what to say next, he took a chance. "Will I be seeing you again?" he gallantly asked.

Fran smiled at him. "I don't know. I mean, this is New York. I'm sure we're bound to run into each other sometime."

"Then how about tomorrow? We could grab a cup of coffee or something?" He gave her his best smile to try to persuade her.

Fran wasn't sure. She didn't know if she could handle another relationship. _Hold on, Fran_, she told herself. _Technically, it doesn't have to be a date. He probably just wants to get to know you._ The tiny voice in the back of her head kept spitting excuse after excuse out at her. Finally ignoring it she made up her mind and said, "What time?"

"Whenever you're free."

Fran thought for a moment, mentally checking her schedule in her head. "OK. How about tomorrow evening at five?"

Max also ran through his busy schedule. He remembered he had rehearsals going on all week. But if he was able to escape the theater like he did today, he was sure he'd be able to leave tomorrow by five. "Sounds good to me."

"Great." She smiled at him once more, feeling her cheeks grow warm just by looking at him. They stood silently for a minute, taking in each other's appearance, as if it were the last time they'd see one another.

"So I'll see you tomorrow at five, right?" Fran said breaking the silence.

Max snapped out of his trance after hearing her speak. "Yes. I can meet you at that coffee shop on 58th street?"

"58th street it is, then. Thank you for helping me up earlier, Maxwell. It was really nice meeting you."

"You're welcome. And it was a pleasure meeting you, too, Fran."

They shook hands once more and could instantly feel that shock that only two people meant to be together experience. They both looked up in astonishment, not quite believing what they were feeling. Sensing the awkwardness, Max removed his hand from hers. He smiled at her one more time then walked over to the limo parked at the curb. Fran watched as the long, black vehicle maneuvered its way down the streets of Manhattan. After losing sight of it, Fran turned and headed inside.

Settling back inside the limo, Max ran a hand through his damp hair. He let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding. Her simple touch sent shock waves through him. He'd never experienced anything like it before. And truth be told, it scared him. "What have I gotten myself into?" he asked to himself, while thinking about his upcoming 'date.'

After entering her apartment and hanging up her jacket, Fran sat down on the plush couch in her living room, letting out a breath she didn't even know she was holding. She thought about the man she just met. "What have I gotten myself into?" she asked to herself.


	3. A Cup of Coffee

As she walked, Fran listened to the sounds of sirens and car horns blaring around her, the piercing noise echoing in her ears. Just last night she was able to clear her head of the impending doubts she had about meeting him, but the bustling noise of the city grew louder as she neared the corner of 58th Street, once again bringing her doubts back to the surface. She couldn't get the image of his handsome face out of her mind. His green eyes had cast a spell on her, pulling her in with just a simple glimpse, almost like an enchantment. And his dark hair. How she would have loved to run her fingers through it and feel the softness of every wavy strand as it brushed over her skin. She shook her head slightly, starting to feel her cheeks grow warm just by thinking of him.

Suddenly, the 'honk' of a bus horn grabbed her attention, pushing her concealed thoughts to the back of her mind. If it wasn't for the blaring horns of evening rush hour, she sure as hell would have missed her destination.

Stepping inside the small, crowded shop, Fran looked around, searching for the man who now occupied her every thought. She politely pushed her way through the sea of people, until she found him sitting at a table in the back corner. He looked up at her once he sensed her presence. His lips formed into a wide, delighted smile as she sat down across from him.

"Hi. Sorry I'm late," Fran replied apologetically.

"It's quite all right," Max said, shaking his head understandingly.

Just as quickly as she sat down, a waitress strolled over to their table and placed two cups of coffee in front of them. After asking if there was anything else, the waitress turned and left their table, becoming lost in the swarm of people crowding the front of the shop.

"I ordered for the both of us. I hope you don't mind?" Max said, bringing the paper cup up to his lips.

"Not at all," Fran answered, paralleling his movements.

She studied him for a moment. As he set his cup down on the table, the gold band on his left hand caught her eye. How could she have missed it? She was so caught up in his gentlemanly gestures that she failed to notice that he was married. How could he just step out on his wife to secretly meet some woman he just met? The thought made her nauseous. She didn't think he was the type of man to do such a thing. But then again, they just met yesterday, she didn't know anything about him.

"So, does your wife know you're meeting me here?" Fran asked casually, finally finding the courage to bring it up.

After receiving no answer, she looked at him from across the table. His eyes held sadness and pain, as if the subject tormented him. Immediately, Fran remorsefully cast her eyes down at her cup of coffee, realizing she may have crossed the line. She heard him clear his throat, and looked up.

"My wife... passed away three years ago," he replied mournfully, holding back the fresh tears that came to his eyes.

She listened to him, feeling a twinge of pain stab at her heart. The painful memory that haunted her year after year bubbled its way back to the surface:

_Why did this have to happen? Him of all people? She could still remember the call she had received earlier that night:_

_"I'm terribly sorry, Miss, but Mr. Stevenson was shot earlier tonight."_

_Her voice had caught in her throat as she listened to the police officer on the other end. Her mind went blank. She couldn't speak let alone think. Eventually Fran drowned out his voice, as all she could think about was the man she loved, possibly lying somewhere with a bullet in his chest. The only bit of information she processed during the rest of the phone call was that he was being rushed to the hospital. She felt a glimpse of hope. He was still alive, hopefully._

_After arriving at the hospital, she was grateful to hear that he'd survived the ride. When she entered his room she saw him lying in bed, eyes closed, his chest slowly rising and falling with each breath he took. The feel of her hand on his awakened him. She gazed deeply into his eyes, and could see the life slowly fading from them with each word he uttered._

_He smiled weakly at her. With one hand, he reached up and caressed her face, wiping away the tears that had fallen. "I love you, Fran," he said, as sweetly as possible. He reached for the small box on the side table next to him. "I want you to have this." He opened the box to reveal a diamond ring. The expensive stone sparkled back at her as she looked down at it. Without a word, he slipped the ring on her finger._

_"John," Fran gasped, as she gazed down at the ring, "it's beautiful!"_

_He watched her reaction, and suddenly, a bout of harsh coughing echoed throughout the room. Finally, after clearing his throat he said, "I don't have much time left..." His voice came out hoarse and quiet._

_"No! Don't say that!"_

_John shook his head. "I want you to promise me that you'll keep the ring. You don't have to wear it, just keep it."_

_Fran shook her head vehemently. "I can't, John. Not while you're gone." She took off the ring and gave it back to him._

_John took ahold of her left hand, clasping it between his. "It will remind you of how much I love you. Promise me you'll keep it?" he pleaded, his voice becoming shallower. He placed the ring in the palm of her hand, then closed it shut. She just stared back at him. She couldn't say anything. She looked over at the heart rate monitor, seeing his pulse quickly decrease. _

_"I promise I'll keep it forever. I love you, John. I always will," Fran said. She watched his smile quickly fade away as his eyes began to peacefully close. And then, just like that, he was gone. Tears started to roll down her cheeks as she looked down at his lifeless body; his skin pale and his features relaxed. No more would she see his handsome, smiling face gazing back at her. No more would she hear him utter the three words that melted her heart. No more would she feel his soft lips on hers. No more. He was gone._

_Fran looked down at the ring sitting on her palm. She picked it up and slipped it on the ring finger of her right hand. She took ahold of one his limp hands, leaving one last kiss on his cold, pale skin. Then, abruptly, she was pushed out-of-the-way as orderlies filed into the room to take care of his lifeless body. She stood for a minute, watching, as one man covered John's body with a white sheet. The sight nearly made her nauseous. She turned and fled the hospital room, unable to take anymore of the pain that enveloped her. She sat down in a chair in the hallway, wishing his strong arms were there to comfort her. Her ring sparkled back at her in the light of the hallway. And as painful as it was to think about, she knew, that he was with her._

Fran felt her cheek grow wet and snapped out of her trance. She noticed he was staring at her with concerned eyes. She wiped away the few tears that managed to roll down her cheeks.

"Are you all right?" Max asked, perplexed by her sudden change in mood.

"Yeah," she answered, shaking her head, trying to convince herself that everything was okay. But it wasn't. She hadn't thought about that night in what seemed like forever.

"I'm sorry about your wife, Maxwell. I had no idea..."

He held his hand up understandingly. "It's okay. Over the years, I've tried to open up about it more. But it's just so hard to talk about, you know? Especially with the children."

More tears came to Fran's eyes, and she did her best to hold them back. "You have children? It must be so hard for them."

She watched him slowly nod his head and shift uncomfortably in his seat. He had become quiet. Fran sensed he didn't want to further discuss the subject so she changed direction, hoping he would follow her.

Fran told him about her new career in fashion and what it was like working with her cousin, Toddy. He seemed intrigued and in tune to everything she said, even when she told him about the last 'Fine Family Reunion.' She got some good laughs out of that one. But as she talked with him she could see, or almost sense, a longing in his eyes. He was a widower after all, but there was something in his voice when he mentioned his children. It was as if he wanted the emptiness he was feeling inside to go away. She could see that he wanted to be whole again, but was unsure of where to start.

They continued to talk for what seemed like hours, until the sky outside became a faint dark blue.

Steering his gaze from the nearby window, Max glanced down at his watch. "It's getting rather late," he said, standing from his chair.

Fran stood up as well, grabbing her coat from the back of her chair. She pulled out a small, white card from her purse and handed it to him. "Before you leave, take this. My number's on the front. If you ever need someone to talk to..."

She watched him dig in his wallet, revealing an identical looking card to the one she gave him. He handed it to her, then placed his wallet back in his pocket.

"In case you want to do this again sometime," he said, smiling widely.

Fran smiled back at him. And without thinking, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hugged him. At first she felt him stiffen against her, but after a second he returned her embrace, hugging her back. She felt him hold onto her a tad longer than what a friendly hug lasted for. When they pulled apart, she watched him look down, as if he were embarrassed by what he did. She didn't say anything.

"I'll see you soon, I hope." He winked, once again giving her that smile that already seemed to make her melt inside.

Feeling the emotions stir up inside her, Fran turned her head away from him as she felt her face redden. Everything about him made her tingle inside, and she didn't know why.

Meeting his gaze again she said, "I hope so, too."

He gave her one more gorgeous smile then turned and left the coffee shop. She watched from the large glass window as his silhouette quickly blended in with the other businessmen making their way home.

_To be continued..._

**A/N: Sorry. I know it's been a week, but I was stuck on the ending of this chapter for like three days. I could not think of a good way to end it. I hope I did all right? The character John Stevenson is a fictional character I created. He only "appears" in this chapter, but is mentioned much later in the story. Hope you enjoyed it. Stick around for the next part.**


	4. Reflections

"646-895-1436." Max softly whispered it, creating a syncopated, numeric rhythm with each integer he uttered.

Holding the small, white card in his hand, he reread her name and number over and over in his head, until he felt he almost had it memorized. He just couldn't stop thinking about her. A part of him told him that it was wrong to think about another woman, but the other part found himself regularly fantasizing about her.

Once again, he glanced over at the phone sitting on the corner of his desk. For over an hour he mentally debated about whether he should call her or not. He had a pile of paper work sitting in front of him, but all he accomplished was reading the first word that stared back at him. He couldn't help it. She simply captivated him, making it difficult for him to concentrate on anything else.

"Maxwell!" his frustrated business partner bellowed.

Max looked up, pulling away from his daydream. "Hm?" he mumbled, still looking down at the card in his hand.

"I've only been gone for an hour. How can we still be behind on these contracts?"

Max knew exactly why they were behind. Ever since their last meeting a few days ago at the coffee shop, all he's been able to think about was _her_. He still remembers how wonderful her body felt against his when they hugged. While thinking about the forbidden curves of her body, his lips absently fell into a goofy, love struck grin.

"Maxwell, has something been on your mind lately, you seem so distracted?" CC asked, watching her partner nonchalantly rub his stubble-filled chin while dreamily gazing off in the distance.

"Yes, but not of you," Niles replied, approaching CC from behind, a sardonic smile forming across his lips.

CC rolled her eyes. "Don't you have a date with your feather duster?"

"At least my date doesn't have to be blown up," he shot back quickly.

"Maxwell!" CC whined. "Are you going to let him talk to me like that?"

Maxwell turned his not-so-full attention back to the bantering couple. He knew far too well that the antics Niles played on Miss Babcock was just his way of getting her attention. He never told him, of course. Niles would never believe it. He may have everyone in the house thinking he despised CC, but Max knew Niles better than anyone. And he could tell, that somewhere, under all that butler demeanor, Niles held a soft spot for Miss Babcock.

"CC! It's just his way. He doesn't mean any harm by it," Maxwell said, his smile reforming.

CC let out an exasperated sigh. She knew it was no use defending her point. "I'll let you get back to work then. See you tomorrow." She grabbed a stack of papers then turned and left the office.

Niles watched her leave and couldn't help the smile that escaped his lips. He loved torturing Miss Babcock, whether it be physically or verbally. It was just his hobby. Or was it? He pushed that sudden, terrifying thought out of his head and turned back to his distracted boss.

Niles knew exactly where his employer's thoughts had been lately. A few days ago Niles found a business card in one of Max's suits. Seeing that the card and number belonged to a woman he left it there for his boss to retrieve. He hasn't met this mystery woman yet, but from the distracted and dreamy features Mr. Sheffield seemed to display, he was sure this woman was something special.

Clearing his throat, Niles replied, "will there be anything else, sir?"

"No, thank you, Niles," Max answered, not making eye contact.

Niles smiled and turned on his heel. He couldn't wait to meet the woman occupying his boss's thoughts.

* * *

After a while, Max was able to get his mind back on track. He was nearly finished with the mountain of paperwork on his desk when a loud, long yawn escaped his throat. He didn't realize it was so late. He removed his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes. Standing from his chair he stretched his tired limbs, deciding to call it a night. He leisurely left his office in search of some much-needed sleep.

As he made his way down the second floor hallway, he noticed a light on underneath Gracie's bedroom door, causing one eyebrow to rise in curiosity. He lightly knocked, then slowly entered. There she was, sitting on the floor, playing with her dolls and multiple stuffed animals.

"Sweetheart, what are you doing out of bed?" Max asked, squatting down to Gracie's level.

Grace looked up at her father. "I'm not tired," she said, while vigorously brushing her doll's hair.

"Oh. Why not?"

"Because you didn't read me a bedtime story." Her voice was flat, as if she were stating it as a fact.

Max let out a sigh. Bedtime stories were the children's favorite when Sara was alive. It was something he and Sara did _together_ with the children. He hasn't read them a story since her death, it was just too painful to do alone. But lately, he felt he needed to get rid of all this pain and sorrow he built around his heart. And his children seemed like the perfect antidote.

He scooped Gracie up in his arms, and together, they sat down on her bed. He watched Gracie lean over and pick her favorite book, _Cinderella_, up off the floor. You could tell the book has been read a countless number of times, as the spine and the front cover were filled with worn and torn edges.

"From the beginning?" Max asked, shifting himself into a more comfortable sitting position.

Gracie shook her head. She opened the book to her favorite part. "Here."

Max knew that Grace loved the ending; when Cinderella and the handsome prince live happily ever after. Something he sadly wasn't able to truly fulfill.

While he read the rest of the story he felt Grace relax in his arms. He looked down and could see she was falling asleep. She let out a tired yawn and gazed up into his eyes. "Daddy? I miss Mom," she said quietly.

Grace knew she was too young to distinctly remember her mother. But her older siblings were able to recall several happy memories of their family. She loved to listen to them talk about their mother, but only wished she could have been old enough to remember. The emptiness Grace felt, her father could not fill. The only ones who could were the imaginary figures her bright, young mind conjured up. She'd do anything to have it filled in again.

Looking down in her eyes, a single tear slid down Max's cheek. He wiped it away quickly and tightened his arms around his daughter. "I know. I miss her, too. So much."

"Will we ever have a mother again?"

After listening to Gracie's question, he wasn't sure. He hadn't thought about remarrying; mainly because he never wanted to. He made a vow, he couldn't break it. And neither could he break the walls he built around his heart. It already belonged to someone, whether she was there or not, forever. But somewhere, there seemed to be an opening, or crack, in those thick walls. Could it be, that that beautiful smile and unique voice he met captured his heart?

"I don't know, sweetheart."

"Well, we would if you met the right woman, right?"

"Grace," he sighed, "it's not that simple. I know you miss your mother, we all do. It's just. . . I don't think I'm ready for something like that, yet."

"You still love Mom don't you?"

"Of course I do. I always will."

"But do you love her enough to realize that she'd be happy for you, even if you did find someone?"

Where did that come from? he wondered. Grace always amazed him with her intellectual, philosophical statements. She was still young, but very smart for her age.

Max thought about what Gracie said for a moment. Was she right? Did he really think that Sara would disapprove if he decided to move on? He moved his hand down to his thigh, feeling the shape of _her_ card in his pocket.

The room fell eerily silent, like in a horror movie; you're just waiting for that moment when something jumps out at you. After finally drawing away from the silence, Max placed the book on her nightstand then climbed off the bed. He pulled the covers up to Grace's chin and left a kiss on her forehead.

"I think it's time we go back to bed. Goodnight, sweetheart," he said softly, tucking her in.

"Goodnight, Daddy," Grace sleepily replied back. "I love you."

Max's heart melted at his daughter's words. "I love you, too." He leaned down and kissed her forehead once more before silently slipping out of her room.

Coming out of the bathroom ready for bed, Max still held Fran's business card in his hand. He had retrieved it earlier from his pocket before changing out of his clothes. He looked down at it once more, repeating her name and number in his head. He placed the card on his nightstand and settled himself in bed. Once his head hit the soft, plush pillow, his only thoughts and dreams were of her, and how determined he was to hear her voice the next day. But Grace's question (or statement rather) still lingered at the back of his mind, waiting to be answered:

"But do you love her enough to realize that she'd be happy for you, even if you did find someone?"

_To be continued_


	5. The Family

"You know what? I think we should take a little off the end," Fran said, gesturing to the fabric displayed on the mannequin.

The seamstress nodded her head in agreement. As they were discussing about possibly shortening the dress, the ringing of Fran's cell phone interrupted them.

"Hello?" Fran sang into her phone.

"Fran?"

Fran's breath caught in her throat. It had been almost a week since their last meeting. She was beginning to think he would never call.

"Max, I uh . . ."

"I'm not interrupting anything important am I?"

Absent-mindedly, Fran shook her head. "Well, I'm sort of meeting with the seamstress right now. But, you can call me back later."

"Um, okay." There was a slight pause before he continued. "I'm sorry for interrupting I just . . ." he trailed off, unsure of what to say.

Fran could tell he was nervous. Thank goodness she wasn't the only one. "It's all right." Silence once more. "Um, listen, I should get back to work. I'm sure you're also very busy."

"Yeah, I've got my hands full with paperwork. But, I will call you back later," he assured her.

"Okay. I'll talk to you then, bye." She hung up her phone then turned back to the seamstress.

* * *

Max let out a disappointed sigh as he hung up the phone. I sounded like an idiot, he chastised himself. He hadn't been through the dating process in years. In fact, he didn't really like to think of it as "dating"—more like . . . building a lasting relationship. He felt his confidence wasn't all there, though. He was still a little frightened about "getting back out there" as some would say. But it took enough courage just to pick up the phone and call her, right? That had to be some form of confidence. Then why did he feel so disappointed in himself?

He heard himself sigh once more as he set his pen down. Work just wasn't on his mind at the moment. He set his glasses down on his desk and stood up to leave his office.

He briefly stopped in the foyer to tell Niles where he was headed before leaving the house. He opted for walking since it was such a beautiful afternoon. Plus, he thought it might help relieve some of the stress from his new play. He always grew restless when one of his productions neared opening night. He sighed. _Opening night_. He felt his mind drifting to her again. Would she go with me to the premiere of my new show? He shook his head, telling himself he was crazy for thinking of such an absurd idea.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't realized how far he'd walked. He was already in Midtown, Manhattan, a good ten blocks from home. The corner of Central Park was just across the street. He made his way towards the park, but stopped when he saw _her_. He kept his sight set on _her_. She was sitting on a bench, talking with a man. He didn't remember her telling him she was involved with someone. The only man she mentioned was her cousin. What was his name again? Todd, or Toddy, as she had called him? He hoped it was her cousin because immediately he felt something he hadn't felt in a long time—jealously.

He stood watching, waiting for the right time to approach her. She was still engrossed in her conversation, he didn't want to interrupt. But then, she stood from the bench. The man she was with wrapped his arms around her in a hug. Max felt his chest tighten at the sight of them. He watched her kiss his cheek then pick up her things. This was the perfect opportunity.

He sucked in a deep breath and smoothed down his jacket, making sure there were no wrinkles in his suit. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear then made his way over to her.

"Fran?" he called out, trying to make it sound like their meeting was a coincidence.

She turned around at the sound of her name. Her lips immediately formed into a bright smile at the sight of him. She noticed how his eyes sparkled in the sunlight as she met his gaze.

"Max!" she exclaimed. "It's good to see you. What are you doing out here in the park?"

"I was just out for a walk. I had to clear my mind. Anyway, what are you doing here? I thought you were in a meeting?"

"I was. I just finished. It's such a beautiful day, though. I couldn't waste it by being locked inside. So I convinced Toddy that we should get some fresh air."

So that was her cousin, he thought. His insides began to settle down at the realization.

"Would you like to go for a stroll, then?" Max asked her.

Fran laughed at his gentlemanly words. "I'd love to."

As they walked through the park, Max looked down at the load of papers she was carrying.

"Are those your designs?"

Fran looked down at her side then back at him. "Yes. But most of them are Toddy's. He's the professional. I'm more like his assistant or source of inspiration."

Max stole a glance at her from the side. She was smiling. He could tell she loved what she did for a living, just like him. "Well, I'm sure your designs are just as good as his."

Fran tried to hide the unmistakable blush that flashed across her cheeks. What was it about this man that always made her face grow warm?

They continued to walk for a while, conversing about each other's occupation and interests. Max told her more about his children. From the get go, he could tell she loved kids. Her eyes would sparkle and her smile would widen in delight when he mentioned them. Which gave him the perfect idea.

He stopped walking, causing her to stop and turn around.

"You know I was thinking," he began, starting to feel the palms of his hands grow sweaty. He rubbed his temple to curve his nervousness. "Maybe you could come over for dinner tonight? I'm sure the children would love to meet you."

Fran flashed him a bright smile. "Yeah, I'd love to."

"Great. Say . . . six o'clock?"

"That's perfect." Fran's insides began to twist and turn with joy. She couldn't wait to meet his kids, let alone spend more time with him.

They walked for a little while longer, enjoying the gorgeous weather. When it was time to part ways neither of them wanted their afternoon to end. But both knew that later tonight they'd have as much time as they wanted to get to know each other. The very thought of being together again purely excited them. They smiled at each other once more before heading in separate directions.

* * *

At promptly six o'clock the doorbell of the Sheffield mansion rang out, like the sustained sound of church bells as they chime at the top of every hour.

"We've been expecting you."

Fran gazed at the dapper blonde man standing in front of her, holding the door open. A faint English accent accompanied his voice. His bright, cerulean blue eyes stared back at her, gleaming behind the wide smile that encompassed his chiseled features.

"Wow! A girl could get used to this!" Fran exclaimed, stepping inside the spacious foyer, marveling at all the fancy, beautiful furnishings. She caught a glimpse of the adjoining living room and grand staircase off to the right of the front door.

Niles smiled at her astonishment. He could tell right away that this woman possessed something the Sheffield's have been gravely missing. But he couldn't quite put his finger on it as to what it might be.

"May I take your coat, Miss . . ."

"Fran. Fran Fine," she finished for him, letting him take her coat to place in the closet next to them.

"I'm Niles, the butler," he replied, facing her once more.

"Hm. If I'd known all butlers looked liked you I would have hired one years ago."

Niles smiled at her compliment, refraining from the slight blush that tried to creep its way out onto his cheeks.

He leaned in closer and whispered in her ear, "you know, I could always quit. They wouldn't miss me."

Fran smiled and playfully nudged his side with her elbow. "Don't tempt me, Niles." They laughed wholeheartedly, like they've been friends forever.

"Fran!"

The sound of his voice, again, stirred up those familiar emotions that seemed to tangle up her insides. She loved hearing her name roll off his tongue in that erotic accent of his.

She turned and embraced him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders in a hug. They heard a cough behind them, accompanied by a few giggles. They pulled apart, turning to the source of the giggling.

Max stepped aside to introduce his children. "Fran, these are my children: Maggie, Brighton, and Grace." He gestured, in turn, to each of them. "Children. This is Fran. The woman I met last week."

Fran gazed at each of them. She stepped right up to Maggie, placing a dainty hand under her chin. Maggie stiffened at her touch, not used to such personal interaction. But she soon relaxed as the woman's brown eyes sent waves of comfort and elation through her.

"You have gorgeous hair. And such beautiful eyes," Fran said, tucking a few strands of the girl's hair behind her ear.

Immediately, Maggie straightened her composure, standing up taller, full of confidence.

Fran smiled and moved her gaze down to the boy sitting on the bottom step of the staircase. He had one elbow resting on his knee while his hand supported his chin. His outfit—or school uniform, as she guessed—was disheveled, like he detests the very feel of it encasing his body. He looked up at her with vigilant eyes as if searching for something hazardous.

She squatted down to his level. His eyes darted away from hers.

"Now Brighton, your father didn't tell me how handsome you are."

The boy shifted his gaze back to hers, his eyes widening in delight. Loving the attention he rarely received, he stood up, and gave her his most charming smile.

Fran smiled back. She turned and stopped in front of the youngest.

"And you must be Gracie," Fran gushed, looking down at the beautiful young girl. "I love your dress, it's very pretty."

Gracie smiled up at Fran, feeling the immediate connection. "Thank you," she replied shyly, looking down at her feet.

They continued to exchange pleasantries, until the announcement that dinner was ready moved the family into the dining room. The children found their seats around the table while Fran took a seat to the right of Max.

Everyone stared at Fran as she sat down, remembering who used to occupy that chair. The dining room suddenly turned quiet. Fran could sense the thickness in the air. She looked around the table, seeing faces hung in sadness and grief. She knew what it was like to lose a relative. But losing a mother and a wife was something you don't get over in a few months. No. The sadness builds up, burying your heart, until it finally takes a hold of you, not wanting to let anything or anyone else in. She knew all too well. She's been through it, just like this family. And it still hurts—the pain, no matter how hard you try to get over it.

The awkwardness continued to build, but Fran cut in, starting conversation. Her incessant stories about her family drew smiles and laughs from everyone around the table.

Maxwell sat and listened, watching her talk with his children. She seemed to know exactly what to say to them as the children responded wholeheartedly to the conversation, telling her about their busy day at school.

Niles stood by idly, watching the family he loved and worked for finally come together again. He could see joy in the children's faces. He couldn't remember the last time he witnessed such a thing. And for once, his boss seemed more relaxed and at ease. Not sitting in his office, face buried in a script, fretting over a rotten review. It was nice—almost back to the way things used to be.

After dinner Brighton suggested they watch a movie.

"Now Brighton," Max began, "I don't know if Fran can stay for a movie. She might have plans."

"Aww," Brighton whined. He quickly turned to Fran, looking at her with pleading eyes. "Can't you stay for a little longer? Please?"

Fran stared into the boy's beseeching eyes. "How could I say no?"

Brighton, including his sisters, jumped in delight.

Max stood behind the excitement. He'd never heard his son use his manners before. There was just something about this woman that immediately transformed his children; each one of them individually.

Finally finding a movie, everyone settled into a comfortable position. The kids took the floor in front of the TV, purposefully leaving the couch empty. Max and Fran stared at each other in disbelief. Were these kids trying to set them up?

Max sat down on the couch. He invitingly patted the spot next to him. Fran reluctantly agreed, and took a seat next to him.

As the evening rolled on, the kids, one by one, drifted off to sleep.

Feeling a tickling sensation on his chin, Max looked down. Fran was fast asleep. Her head was resting on his shoulder, her hair fanning out over his chest. He moved his hand up to waken her, but then stopped himself. The sound of her even breathing as she slept calmed him. For some reason, he let his head gently rest on top of hers. He stared out at the dark living room, the only light coming from the blank screen of the TV. The quiet and peacefulness and the feel of Fran's body so close to his lulled him to sleep.

Not long after closing his eyes, Max was jerked awake by the sound of rustling. A dark silhouette caught his eye. Niles must have wakened the children.

His sudden movements caused Fran to rise from her spot on his shoulder. She looked at him innocently as if forgetting she ever sat down next to him. They both stood from the couch and turned away from each other, feigning embarrassment.

Fran noticed the kids were gone, probably upstairs. She looked down at the small watch around her wrist. "I um . . . I should be getting home," Fran said, finding her way to the front door to retrieve her coat.

Max followed her. He helped her slip on her thin coat.

They stood, for what seemed like forever, staring at each other, silence enveloping the mansion.

"I'll walk you out to your car," Max suggested, finally speaking.

They walked outside to Fran's car, the night sky black, the air chilling. They stopped and faced one another. He watched Fran look up at the sky, and followed her gaze.

Stars—not as easily seen in the city—glimmered in the clear black sky. There were hundreds of them, each one belonging to its own distinct constellation.

"You know they shine for you," Max said matter-of-factly, indicating the stars above. "I've never seen them so bright in the city before."

Fran didn't say anything. She extended her hand out and laid her palm on his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin on her chilling fingers. She stood up on her toes and placed a kiss on his other cheek.

"Thank you," she whispered, "for inviting me and letting me meet your kids. They're wonderful, Max. You should be proud of them."

And he was. Words could not express how proud he was of his children. Especially for the hard times they had to go through—alone.

He didn't realize it at first, but suddenly he could feel his heart beating faster. Her kiss. That simple kiss on his cheek ignited what was once broken and buried, to something alive and jubilant.

Her face was turned away from his again. He went to return her gesture. But as he leaned down, she quickly, unaware, turned her head back to his. Their lips met, accidentally, in a soft kiss.

After the slight touch of their lips, Max pulled away. They stared at each other, both worried that the other could hear the sound of their beating heart, loud as a drum.

Fran gazed into his eyes. They sparkled with fear. She opened her mouth to say something but he beat her to it.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, taking a step back. "It was my fault. I shouldn't have done that."

Fran silently nodded, keeping her head down, avoiding his fear-filled eyes.

"I'll see ya later, Max. Thanks again, for inviting me. Oh, and tell the kids I'll miss them."

He smiled. "I will."

Without another word, Fran hopped in her car.

He watched her drive down the street then turn the corner. He stood glued to his spot on the front stoop. He looked skywards once again, catching the glimpse of a star sparkle back at him. His own words reverberated in his head: You know they shine for you.

Is there a reason that stars shine back at you? Is it possible that someone up _there_ is trying to contact me?

Max looked down at his left hand, the gold band sparkling in the moonlight, then back up at the sky. He knew the answer to both the questions he had in mind.

Yes.

_To Be Continued..._


	6. Friends

Max was torn—emotionally that is. His body said one thing while his mind argued the other. His heart had nearly burst out of his chest when he accidentally kissed her the other night on the street. It was foolish—ludicrous. It shouldn't have happened. It wasn't supposed to. It was meant to be a kiss on the cheek, a sign of thanks—of friendship, nothing more. But her untimely movement caused everything to shift off-kilter.

The feelings inside him were real that night, he felt it—the spark, the world around them disappearing as their lips met, everything. His heart couldn't deny it. Although, he tried to convince himself that these feelings were just figments of his imagination, his body playing tricks on his mind. Either way, real or not, he was baffled.

He let out a frustrated breath as he threw down his napkin.

Breakfast was lonely and quiet. The children had eaten quickly to escape the deathly silence between themselves and their father, then abruptly left for school. After having Fran at the dinner table the other night, he had missed the lighthearted conversation between himself and his children. When it was just the four of them no one ever knew what to say. But Fran had opened everyone's eyes, letting them see what they were missing.

"Going to the theater this morning, sir?" Niles asked, sensing his employer's flustered mood.

"No, Niles. I have paperwork that needs finishing in the office. So if you don't mind, I wish not to be disturbed."

Max rose from his chair in the dining room and headed straight for his office. The one place he could think and work in private.

After finishing through most of his contracts, he relaxed his hand so it rested comfortably on his cheek. His little finger traced the line of his bottom lip as he was deep in thought. He could still remember the feel and taste of her lips when he'd gently caressed them with his own. It was accidental, but their mouths had fit so wonderfully together that it was hard to believe they were only friends.

_Friends._

That's exactly what they were. They've only known each other a few weeks, but instantly grew fond of each other the moment they laid eyes on one another. A friend was what they needed—what he needed. And he had every intention of keeping it that way, despite their accidental kiss. He wasn't ready to take the big leap into a commitment. He'd rather stay in the confines of his comfort zone, where no one would get hurt. He didn't want to ruin what they had, so far.

He just wondered if she felt the same way.

He had to talk to her, explain to her why things have to remain the way they are. But what would he say? The reason we can't move forward in our relationship is because I'm afraid of commitment? Even though it was true, he could never say that to her face, he didn't want to hurt her.

She was so gentle and amiable, yet, there was a hidden passion—a zest for life—hidden underneath her Queens exterior, that he found himself wanting to decipher every piece of her disposition.

Pushing aside the contract in front of him, Max picked up the phone and dialed the number he already knew by heart.

* * *

He sat, waiting, worrying she wouldn't show. Sub-consciously, one foot repeatedly tapped the ground in trepidation while his fingers rhythmically drummed on the black iron arm rest of the bench he was sitting on.

He spoke over and over in his mind what he was going to say to her.

His eyes were closed as he ran through his "speech" one more time, lost to his surroundings, when he nearly jumped a foot off the park bench at the sound of her voice.

"Max?" She spoke hesitantly, seeing his eyes closed and his mouth forming inaudible words. "Is everything all right? You sounded so anxious on the phone."

Max opened his eyes to see Fran staring back at him, concern clearly etched in her features.

He wasn't sure how to respond, so he patted the spot next to him.

Sitting down, Fran held her hands in her lap, waiting for him to speak. When nothing was said, she put a comforting hand on his shoulder, coaxing him to pronounce his thoughts.

Turning his head to face her, his mentally prepared "speech" quickly left the building upon seeing her beautiful brown eyes. The color and depth of them overtook his senses, that when he opened his mouth to speak to her, nothing came out.

His gaze wandered from her eyes down to her mouth. Her lips were relaxed in a straight line, in a sort of consoling way. Her bright red lipstick contrasted her smooth, clear, milky white skin. He stared at them, longer than he should have, as if studying every groove and curve of them. He dreamt of kissing those luscious, full lips again. And this time not accidentally, but passionately. He wanted to taste her, to savor the feeling forever.

But he couldn't. It wasn't the time. He wanted a friendship. He couldn't deal with another heartbreak if things didn't work out between them.

_But we get along so well._

_She already loves the children. And they're quite taken with her as well._

He shook his head, relieving himself of his persuading thoughts.

Clearing his throat he said, "I just have something I wanted to talk to you about."

"Oh. Well, I'm all ears."

He turned his body so it fully faced hers.

"I-I . . . " He couldn't get the right words out.

His nerves began to palpitate. He could feel beads of sweat forming at the top of his forehead, waiting to freely cascade down his face.

He looked at the ground. Two shadows stared back at him. One was himself, and the other was her; sitting relaxed next to him with her hand patiently resting on his shoulder. Their shadows were close, almost interlaced.

He picked his gaze up from the ground and landed it on her shining eyes. He placed his hand atop hers and took a deep breath.

_Friends. _

_Just say it._

He screamed at the voice in his head to leave him alone. But he could still hear it. Echoing the same word over and over . . .

_Friends Friends Friends . . . only friends._

And before he could process what he was saying, the words tumbled out like an avalanche. Nothing could stop them once they left his mouth.

"I just want to be friends."

His answer sounded as if it were forced from his lips. To his ears, it surprised him. He didn't want to say it. It was that stupid voice in the back of his head, controlling all aspects of his mind, twisting it in an obedient fierceness.

He looked to see her reaction.

She didn't display any anguish or sadness. But a faint, distressed demeanor shadowed her eyes. Something inside her crumbled. He could see it. The salient brown color of her eyes began to fade like the dying embers of a wood-burning fire.

He felt the need to wrap his arms around her and take back what he said. But he couldn't. It was the way things have to be—for the both of them.

"It's just," he started to explain, "that kiss . . . outside on the street . . . was accidental. . . . But in a way saying thank you." He could see she looked confused. "I just feel that we should stay friends. I enjoy your company tremendously, Fran, I really do. I just don't want to lose the connection I have with you if things didn't work out between us. Is any of this making sense?"

Fran stared at him, slowly processing his words. He just wanted to be friends?

Her heart wanted to scream at him. She thought they fit well together. Apparently not in the way she wanted.

Yes, she liked him as a friend, but from the first second she laid eyes on him, she knew, that somewhere in her heart, a part of it opened up—for him.

She knew he still loved his wife, why wouldn't he? She still loved John. Their emotional situations were somewhat similar—losing a close loved one. But she thought he was starting to open up to her the minute he invited her over for dinner.

Then there was that damn kiss.

She wasn't expecting it either, but from the moment his lips grazed hers, her soul was lost to him. She'd never felt such passion and intensity in just a simple kiss. She thought that things would change after that night. And they did. He wanted to take two steps back and stay there, while she wanted to take a step forward, to see how things would go between them.

So the only way to move forward with him was to agree and take two steps back. And just maybe . . . that by being friends, he would eventually step forward—with her.

"Fran?" she heard him say. "Is this making any sense to you?"

She nodded her head. "Yes. I completely understand."

He noticed her voice seemed . . . distant. A sudden change from earlier. Was his "plan" hurting her? He didn't realize how much he cared for her. But that's what friends are for, right? They care for each other. That doesn't mean there has to be wedding bells. They could do this. And by all means, if things were to progress further than friendship, he'd give it a try, tentatively.

He smiled at her. "Good."

They remained quiet for a minute.

"The children really missed you at breakfast this morning."

Fran straightened herself on the bench at the mention of his children. "Aw, did they? You know, I missed them as well. I had to drink my morning coffee alone."

His guilt over the possible hurt he caused her began to cease as he saw her smile brighten.

"I think they would really like it if you stopped by again."

"You know I'd love to, but Toddy has me swamped with this new client I'm going to be meeting tomorrow."

His face fell in disappointment.

"Oh. Well, maybe you could stop by sometime later this week, then?"

"I'll be sure to write it on my calendar."

Max lightly chuckled, loving the way she buoyantly responded to him.

They sat on the bench, together watching the park activity unravel around them. A family having a picnic under a tree not too far away, brought back memories for Max. He hadn't been spending a great deal of time with his children recently. And he mentally kicked himself, every time he saw a happy family enjoying their time together.

He felt a streak of wetness run down his cheek. He didn't wipe it away. He just let his tears fall. He didn't have the heart to erase the sadness his memories brought forth.

"I'm a terrible father," Max whispered, just loud enough for Fran to hear.

Fran moved closer to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

"What? Don't say that. You are a terrific father, Max."

Her words comforted him, for the time being, but he knew she was wrong.

He shook his head vehemently. "No. I neglected them. I was never there for them when their mother died. . . . I just wish . . ."

"What?"

". . . that things were different." He wiped his wet eyes, then turned and faced her. "I laid down my heart for her, but it wasn't enough. I cursed God everyday for taking away the love of my life. I blamed myself and I shut out everyone around me, including my children. I never protected them from the anguish they felt. I never gave them the love they needed. I don't deserve them."

Fran tightened her arm around his shoulders.

"You're wrong, Max. Just because you never comforted them doesn't mean you don't deserve them. Those kids love you. And I know you love them just as much. I'm sure they knew you were also hurting over Sara's death. So don't you dare tell me that you don't deserve them. Because you do. You've raised them on your own. Not many single parents can handle three children on their own."

"Well, we do have a butler."

They both laughed lightheartedly, feeling the heaviness of their conversation evaporate.

"They love you, Max. Just promise me you'll return it?"

He gazed deeply into her eyes and he knew he couldn't argue with her.

"I promise." His words were soft and gentle. "And thank you, Fran, " he continued, "for everything."

He wrapped his arms around her thin frame, closing the distance between them.

"You're welcome," Fran whispered, her mouth close to his ear.

She wanted to so badly take his face in her hands and kiss him, but thought better of it, remembering what happened the night before and their conversation earlier.

They stayed locked in their embrace, her head resting on his shoulder, chests pressed against each other, neither of them saying a word.

_To be continued . . ._

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for the long wait. But I've been so busy this past week that it was hard for me to find time to write. Your generous feedback constantly keeps me motivated to write, so keep 'em comin'. Thanks, and I'll see ya next chapter.**


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